


Never Tickle a Sleeping Swallow

by LeelaSmall



Category: Monty Python's Spamalot
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hogwarts AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-01-23 02:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21312742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeelaSmall/pseuds/LeelaSmall
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the characters' lives at Hogwarts. First eight chapters are character introductions. Prompts/suggestions welcome and encouraged.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Patsy

Patsy McGrath had always been looked down upon. Born in a highly underprivileged family, he was no stranger to contempt. The youngest of three brothers, he had always been considered the runt of the litter. The fact that he was naturally of very small stature didn't help. From the moment he was born his parents knew he was going to be petite. Now, at age 11, he had only grown to be 3'8.

Being the shortest in the family, he was more than used to being pushed around. His older brothers had the habit of towering over him in an almost menacing way; a constant reminder of his small stature. He was also no stranger to hand-me-downs. His family had a very delicate financial status, so all his clothes and other essential possessions came from his brothers, which he usually received in a very worn and degraded state.

He didn't mind being poor. He just wished he could do more to help his family get out of that state in which they were always worried whether or not they were going to have enough to eat the following day. He knew nobody would hire him at such a young age, but he wanted to help. More than that, he wanted to feel important, to feel like he mattered, to show everyone that he could make a difference despite his size.

When the letter came, he was more worried than happy. His brothers also attended Hogwarts, and the family was already having a hard time making do as it was. Now that _he_ had been accepted into the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world, it scared him that he might be getting his family into even more debt. His parents assured him that they would manage, but the whole situation still made him feel guilty.

Making his way across Platform 9¾, he was almost amazed at how many weird gazes he was receiving. People looked at him like he was something completely out of the ordinary, which was surprising considering the kind of creatures they saw on a daily basis. Some of the other students actually bumped into him and almost ran him over with their trolleys as they rushed to board the train, as if they couldn't even see him. Truth be told, sometimes he wished that were the case.

When he finally managed to find an empty compartment, he was delighted to be away from all the ruckus. He could still hear the other students chatting happily with each other and the familiar sound of luggage being dragged around through the corridor, but the closed door served as a sound barrier that lowered the volume to a minimum.

As he sat himself down on one of the upholstered seats, he suddenly realized how tired he was. He had barely slept at all that previous night due to the anxiety of this new stage he was about to enter. That along with the rush of packing, making it to the train station on time and saying goodbye to his relatives, it was only natural to feel exhausted.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the window, its coolness feeling very pleasant against his hot skin.

"Excuse me."

His eyelids shot up. He saw a boy with dirty-blond hair who must have been around his age peering into the compartment, a somewhat embarrassed smirk across his face.

"Do you mind if I stay here?" The boy inquired, slowly sliding the door open a few more inches. "Every other compartment is full."

Patsy sat up straight as he complied, gesturing towards the seat in front of him. The boy entered the compartment and slid the door close behind him, smiling at his new acquaintance as he took a seat.

"Thanks." He beamed, anxiously rubbing his hands on his knees. "Are you a first-year student?"

"Yes." Patsy replied halfheartedly.

"Me too. I hope I get placed in a good house. I'd hate to be a Slytherin."

"I wouldn't worry. You'll probably get into Gryffindor." Patsy muttered, glancing down at his feet. "You have a better chance than I do."

"Why do say that?" The boy asked, cocking a brow.

"I mean, look at me." He gestured at his body. "I'm not Gryffindor material. Or Slytherin. I'm the kind of kid both those houses push around for laughs."

"I wouldn't say that. I mean, sure, Slytherins are jerks, but Gryffindors are not."

"I've been pushed around my whole life, so I wouldn't be surprised if it happened at Hogwarts as well." Patsy sighed, looking out the window at the English countryside. "I probably won't last two days."

"Look, I get why you feel that way, and I understand what it's like to feel like you don't belong. For most of my childhood I felt like an outcast in my own family and I've just recently found out that that wasn't even my real family! The man who claimed to be my father had adopted me when I was a baby because I was the result of an adulterous relationship between my real father and a married woman."

The boy took a moment to regain his breath. Patsy could tell that was a difficult subject for him.

"I was bullied by my stepbrother practically every day and I never understood why, until just recently. Luckily an old wizard who's an old friend of my father tracked me down a few months ago and clued me in on everything. Apparently my father was a really important person, but died not long after giving me up for adoption."

He took another pause, this time because he noticed Patsy's heartbroken expression.

"Hey, I'm OK, don't worry." He smiled. "Everything worked out for the best. The wizard taught me everything I needed to know about magic and now I'm here!"

Patsy was astounded. He had felt belittled and unappreciated all his life, thinking nobody had it worse than him, but now he discovered that that wasn't the case. This boy, whom he had just met, apparently came from a privileged background and had it even worse. It really made him appreciate having a family that cared for him.

He could tell it had been hard for the boy to open up to him, but he was glad he did. Not only did it made him feel better about himself, but that was the first time anyone had ever confided in him and treated him as an equal.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for bombarding you with so much information you didn't ask for." The boy chuckled, looking away in embarrassment. "You probably think I'm weird, but the truth is I've never had a friend to talk to before."

"Neither have I." Patsy stated. "We could be friends, if you want to…"

Patsy trailed off, suddenly aware of the brutal honesty of his words. He saw the boy slowly turn his gaze towards him, a small smile spreading across his face.

"It's a deal!" He declared, his eyes twinkling as he extended his right hand towards him. "I'm Arthur, by the way. Arthur Pendragon."

Patsy looked from Arthur's hand to his grinning face repeatedly in an almost incredulous state. Nobody had ever wanted to be his friend for as long as he had been alive, and now here was this total stranger whom he had just met not ten minutes ago and who had poured his heart out to him without thinking twice, willing to give friendship a shot. It made his heart swell.

Not wanting to make his new friend wait any longer, Patsy took hold of his hand and shook it, noticing the strength of Arthur's grip in comparison to his own.

"Patrick McGrath, but people call me Patsy."

* * *


	2. Arthur

Arthur was happy to have made a friend. He had had very a rough time growing up surrounded by people who didn't show the littlest bit of affection towards him, so meeting Patsy was undoubtedly a breath of fresh air. It made all his insecurities concerning the following eight years completely disappear.

Looking back, he almost wanted to laugh at how everything had played out. All his life he had believed to be a simple country boy who was loathed by his father and brother, but turned out it had all been a ruse. The truth was that his father had been a real big shot and had been forced to give him up for adoption. When Merlin managed to track him down and told him everything, Arthur had the hardest time believing him. His whole life had been a lie. He now understood why his so-called father and brother had never treated him like part of the family.

Being unloved all his life, he was over the moon to have found a friend whom he could confide in. From the moment he opened his Hogwarts acceptance letter he had doubted himself, firmly believing that that school would just be a reprise of his life up until that point, no matter how much Merlin had helped him both with magic and his social skills. Meeting Patsy on his first day could only be a sign that everything would get better from then on out.

As they crossed Black Lake in the small wooden boats, the mighty castle that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry coming into sight, the two boys could barely contain their grins as they chatted excitedly.

"My brothers told me that we'll learn to ride gryphons on our third year." Patsy declared. "How cool is that?"

"So cool!" Arthur concurred, literally on the edge of his seat. "The most dangerous creature I've ever been in contact with was our housecat. She hated me, just like everyone else in that house."

"Maybe you should cut back on the self-deprecating humor. It will make it hard for people to be comfortable around you."

"Thanks for the advice. You can tell I've never really interacted with another person." Arthur laughed nervously. "My father – I mean, my _adoptive_ father – was always the one to go to the village for food and services, and he made sure no one was ever aware of my existence. He never even gave me a proper education. I can barely count to ten. One, two, five – "

"Three." Patsy corrected him.

"Three. There, see? Merlin taught me everything I needed in only a few months, but even that wasn't enough."

"I'm sure you'll do great. Just be yourself."

"But what if 'myself' is just… awful?"

"Then show off the best side of yourself. Be kind and fun, like you've been to me."

"OK, but what if – "

"GWEN!"

Their conversation was cut short by that sudden screech from another first-year student behind them. They turned around just in time to see a large splash of water next to one of the boats behind them, indicating someone had just fallen in. Not long after a they saw a girl immerge, her arms flailing around as she desperately tried to keep herself afloat.

To this day, Arthur still can't explain what exactly drove him to do what he did next. Had it been altruism, a built-in sense of bravery? Whichever the reason, before he knew it, he had dived into the lake to save the girl.

He heard Patsy call out his name just before falling into the icy water. Powering through the cold sensation surrounding his body, he made his way to the drowning girl as fast as he could. He reached her just as she had given up, enveloping her with his left arm as he swam towards her boat with his right. He threw her onto the vessel before pulling himself aboard. She coughed out most of the lake water she had swallowed, taking deep and struggled breaths afterwards.

"She was trying to see the bottom of the lake and lost her balance." Said one of the blonde twin girls on the boat.

"You were so brave!" Exclaimed the other twin, beaming at Arthur.

Arthur chose to ignore them and knelt down to the gasping girl's eye level.

"Are you OK?" He asked worriedly.

The girl ceased her gasping the moment their eyes met. He saw her eyes widen and her tan cheeks darken ever so slightly. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel his own cheeks burn up at the sight of her dark-brown gleaming irises.

"Hum…" He stammered, unsure of what to say next. "Gwen, right? I'm Arthur."

He gave her his best smile, albeit a bit goofy. He saw her expression soften and her lips curl into a small smile.

"Thank you." She whispered.


	3. Gwen

Gwen Ramírez wasn't sure how to feel; ashamed, humiliated and mortified were all viable options. However, something told her the knot in her stomach and the burning sensation on her cheeks were the result of something else. Something… completely different.

When she received the letter announcing she had been accepted into Hogwarts, she couldn't have been more delighted. She spent months making sure she had everything she needed and many sleepless nights in expectation, wishing her first day of school would arrive as soon as possible. Now that it did, she only wished she could go back home.

The boat ride across the Black Lake should have been the easiest part of the journey; no crowded train compartments, no other kids talking loudly amongst each other, and especially no vomit-inducing turbulence from the mode of transportation. Just a slow and calm ride from one side of the lake to the other, accompanied by a pair of blonde twin girls with the oddest names she had ever heard, who quickly took a shine to their boating companion and decided to strike a conversation with her. This culminated in them telling her about the Merpeople that lived at the bottom of the lake, and Gwen falling overboard in the process of trying to spot them.

Just what she needed; a reason for ridicule on her first day. She had heard some kid refer to her as Lady of the Lake upon arrival and was certain it would quickly stick and spread like wildfire. No doubt she would be Lady of the Lake until the end of her final year.

Oddly enough, one good thing did come from her near-fatal episode: Arthur.

The last thing she expected was to be rescued by another student. She knew it wasn't impossible; just improbable. But what had surprised her the most wasn't the fact that she had been rescued by a classmate, but the _kind_ of classmate who did. She had never seen him before, and she was sure she would've remembered if she had. She had to be blind to not find him alluring, what with his perfectly coiffed dirty-blond hair and emerald irises that seemed to glow under the moonlight.

She could feel her cheeks burn at the mere memory of the moment when he rescued her from the icy waters of the lake. Now she knew how other boys felt upon meeting her. Being part Veela on her maternal grandmother's side, she was accustomed to have guys gawk and drool over her every once in a while, but she had never experienced the same kind infatuation herself. It was almost too much to bear.

As she sat at the Gryffindor House table, having just being sorted not two minutes before, she tried to make out Arthur's features amongst the large crowd of expectant eleven-year-olds. She hadn't heard his name be called out yet, but she was having a hard time finding him amid the many faces in the jam-packed Great Hall.

"Arthur Pendragon!"

Her heart skipped a beat upon hearing the Professor's voice profess that name. She finally managed to catch a glimpse of the boy in question, the corners of her lips tugging upwards as she watched him step forward and take a seat at the stool before his other classmates while the Sorting Hat was placed atop his head.

Gwen suddenly felt a sharp pang in her stomach as a distressing thought passed her mind: there was a strong possibility that they wouldn't be placed in the same House. The odds were against her; four to one. She knew she had just met him, but for some reason the mere image of them being in separate Houses caused her a great deal of emotional pain, and she refused to have that happen.

She closed her eyes and reached into the darkest corners of her mind, where the remnants of her quarter-Veela powers resided. She had seen her mother and her mother's mother do this countless times with mind-boggling ease – pun intended – piercing men's minds with their own in order to bend them into fulfilling their every whim. She had never accomplished that herself, and she wasn't sure if the Sorting Hat even had a mind, or if it was even male – it was a hat! – but she had to try, nonetheless.

Scrunching up her face in sheer effort, she did her best to convey the message she wanted to insert into the hat's mind:

_Make Arthur a Gryffindor…_

_Make Arthur a Gryffindor…_

_Make Arthur a –_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Her eyelids flew open upon the sound of the Sorting Hat's booming voice, followed by the vibrant cheers of the other members of Gryffindor House at her table.

She could barely believe her ears. Had her mind trick actually worked, or had that just been an incredibly fortunate coincidence? Frankly, she didn't really care. All that mattered was that she and Arthur were in the same House, and would hopefully be seeing much more of each other over the next seven years.

Arthur giddily stepped down from the stool and headed towards the Gryffindor table, high fiving a scrawny boy with messy brown curls as he sat down. He noticed Gwen not a moment later, waving shily at her as his cheeks reddened ever so slightly. Gwen beamed and waved back, feeling her own face burn up once more. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy her stay at Hogwarts.


	4. Galahad

If there had ever been a young boy more determined about what he was going to do when he grew up, Dennis Galahad was that boy.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when the spark first appeared, but he had been passionate about politics from a very young age. While most kids his age found that particular subject to be boring, Dennis found it quite fascinating. He would often burst into a speech in front of his classmates, especially when injustice was afoot. Nothing riled him up more than witnessing something that wasn't fair. His blood would boil inside his veins in such a way that he could feel the whole world tremble around him. And in some occasions, it actually did.

For reasons he could not fully understand, Dennis could feel the ground shake beneath him whenever he was enraged. The first time this had occurred had been in the second grade, when one of his classmates was robbed of one of his toys by an older kid and the teacher just shrugged it off, claiming he needed to learn to stand up for himself. This angered Dennis to such an extreme that he could feel his whole body vibrate in anger, which upon second glance proved to be not only his body, but the whole surrounding area. He hadn't been sure that it had been him to cause the earthquake until it happened again a couple of months later. From then on out he was careful to control his emotions.

Despite his feverous passion for politics, Dennis was well aware that the chances of him going into the field were slim to none. His father had died when he was still a baby, which had left him and his mother struggling to make do financially. If he ever wanted to pursue his dream, he would have to win himself a scholarship to a good university, but he just didn't have the grades for it.

All these doubts left Dennis in a permanent state of doubt, which usually gave him a bad mood. What exactly would he do with his life? Would he manage to become someone important? Or would he just be stuck in the same menial job for the rest of his life, working from nine to five for minimum wage like his mother?

One sunny afternoon in September, he was sprawled on his back in his front yard under the cool shade of a tree as he allowed his mind to wander aimlessly, the feeling of the poorly mowed grass pricking the back of his neck serving as a reminder of the harsh reality that was his life. He sighed to himself, wondering if he was the only eleven-year-old in the world having an existential crisis.

He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind from any worries and to block out the rest of the world around him. It was just him, the late Summer breeze, and the screeching of the owls echoing in the distance.

…wait, _what_?

His eyelids flew open just in time to see a white owl fly above his head, its beak firmly gripping what appeared to be an envelope. Dennis sat up as fast as he could, his perplexed gaze never leaving the snowy bird of prey. He had never seen one of those before, and was truly amazed by how majestic it looked.

Right up until the point when collided face-first with his front door.

Dennis winced as the bird collapsed onto his porch, its feet twitching every couple of seconds. It wasn't long until the door opened and his mother's roller-covered head peaked outside, frowning at the sight of a half-dead animal on her porch.

"Dennis!" she called out, her shrill tone perfectly audible throughout the entire neighborhood. "Get a shovel!"

The bird immediately took off, no doubt frightened by the woman's screeching, leaving the letter behind. Mrs. Galahad bent down with a grunt and picked up the item, her face a mix of amazement and bewilderment as she read the writing on the back.

"Dennis!" she shouted again. "It's for you!"

Dennis was taken aback, but at the same time skeptical. The enveloped dropped by the owl contained a letter of acceptance to some kind of magic school, of which he was certain there was no such thing. He refused to believe that letter was legitimate and threw it in the trash. He refused to believe that magic existed.

And he kept on refusing to believe… until his house was invaded by a swarm of owls with more copies of that exact letter. Then he had no choice but to believe.

After his initial skepticism disappeared, Dennis began to feel a hint of joy. For years he had been convinced that his life had no purpose and that he was just waiting out the many minutes until his inevitable end, but now it seemed that he was destined for more. Sure, it was rather unorthodox and nothing close to what he planned to pursue in the future, but at least now he had options. Now he knew his life was going somewhere, and that somewhere was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

For the first time in many years, Dennis Galahad felt stable.


	5. Bedevere

Steve Bedevere was a nerd; pure and simple. He was fascinated with everything that involved science and fantasy and was not afraid to show it, which would often result in him being bullied by other kids. Luckily for him, his parents, who were both Aurors, always supported his passion for the fictional, and helped him with whichever problem would result from it.

His parents were also the ones to introduce him to potion making, another area with which he became greatly fascinated. He would practice every day, marveling at the wonders that would occur when he mixed the correct concoctions. He became close to an expert at potion making by the time he was eleven, around the same time he received a letter of acceptance from the most prestigious wizarding school in the country. His parents couldn't have been prouder.

When he first arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he couldn't wait to start Potions class. He was sure he would be the best at that subject, no doubt impressing his Professor and all of his classmates. With the vast experience he had from making potions back home, there was no way he wouldn't get the best marks.

Boy, was he _wrong_.

On his very first day of Potions class, he mixed the wrong two substances and caused an explosion that burned both his eyebrows clear off. This earned him not only detention, a failing mark and 50 points taken from Ravenclaw, but also a nickname that haunted him for almost a year. To this day there are still some students who refer to him as 'Browdevere'.

It didn't get any better from then on out; it actually just got worse. On his second year, in Care of Magical Creatures, a Fire Crab latched onto his hair and refused to let go. Year three was the time he almost killed that blue-haired kid in Herbology when he fed a Venomous Tentacula the wrong kind of fertilizer and caused it to lash at him. He erroneously predicted that a girl in his fourth year Arithmancy class would be dead in two weeks, which caused her to sink into a crippling depression. The anxiety from these past failures nearly caused him to fail his OWL exams, which he still believes to only have passed due to sheer luck.

He was determined to turn his luck around when year six came around. Now that he was taking NEWT-level classes, he needed to try twice as hard to get the best marks possible. That and he needed to get people to stop seeing him as a laughingstock. Maybe the sixth time would be the charm.

He immediately felt all determination fade away when he broke the tip of his quill against his parchment on the very first class of the year. Off to a great start.

"Qu'vatlh…" he muttered under his breath.

"Wow, that's a blast from the past."

He glanced up from his now torn parchment to meet the gaze of his deskmate, whom he had never spoken to before, but had seen around at the Ravenclaw common room before. He remembered his chiseled face and his auburn hair that cascaded down his back in perfect waves. It was almost impossible to look away from him.

"I haven't heard Klingon being spoken in years." He declared, flashing Bedevere a smile that made something shift inside of him.

"It's a shame, really." Bedevere retorted as soon as he was able to snap out of his trance, fetching a new quill to resume writing. "It's a beautiful language."

"If you say so." He shrugged, turning his gaze back to the Alchemy Professor. "I'm not really that into Star Trek. I prefer Star Wars. Especially the prequels."

Bedevere's quill snapped once more, but now for a different reason. He was glad they were sitting at the back of the classroom, where neither the Professor nor the other students could hear them, for he was about to give the guy an earful.

"Are you serious?!" he whisper-yelled, throwing his broken quill away in anger. "How could you possibly like the prequels better than the original trilogy?! They are absolute trash! George Lucas sold his beautiful vision out to the highest bidder and turned it into a glorified garbage fire! I can't even begin to –"

"Woah woah, calm down!" his deskmate chuckled, holding his hands up in a defensive fashion. "I know they're bad. People keep telling me that, and I do admit that it fails in countless ways, but I just really like the Senate scenes."

"Really?" Bedevere cocked a brow, his internal rage diminishing ever so slightly. "Why?"

"Personal preference, I guess." He shrugged. "I love everything that has to do with politics. Most people don't understand."

But Bedevere _did_ understand. He more than anyone knew what it was like to be passionate about something and be belittled because of it. He was well acquainted with the feeling that came from having someone glare oddly at him as he explained why he was so enthusiastic about muscular men flying around with their underwear on the outside of their bodysuits, humanoid alien civilizations invading the Earth and an asthmatic robot who refused to pay child support.

"I'm Dennis, by the way." Said his deskmate. "Dennis Galahad."

"I'm – "

"I know who you are. You're that kid who burned off his eyebrows in first-year Potions class!" Dennis snickered. "You're Browdevere!"

"It's Bedevere." He corrected him with a grumble. "Steve Bedevere. It's been five years and people still won't let me live that down…"

"Hey, don't take it too personally." Dennis patted him on the back reassuringly. "You know how kids are. Trust me, it will all blow over as soon as someone else has an accident."

"I guess…"

The sounds of bells chiming made them instinctively glance up at the same time. The Professor dismissed the class and all the students began noisily packing up and rushing out to make it to their next class on time.

Bedevere pulled out some books from his satchel to make room for his parchment and his two broken quills, one of the items falling onto the ground with a loud 'plop!'. He didn't even have to look down to know what he had dropped. He just hoped no one else had noticed.

"Is that the latest issue of The Quibbler?" he heard Dennis inquire.

Bedevere froze, immediately feeling his cheeks flush. It was already bad enough to be known, as Dennis had so delicately put it, as 'that kid who burned off his eyebrows in first-year Potions class'. He most certainly didn't want to also be known as 'the guy who believes those wacky conspiracy theories from that nutcase tabloid'.

He slowly turned around, racking his brain for the best excuse he could think of for being in the possession of that publication. He was surprised to see that Dennis had picked up the tabloid and now leafing through it, looking rather interested in its content.

"Any information on corruption schemes this month?" he asked, his gaze never leaving the pages.

"You read The Quibbler?" asked Bedevere, his astonishment perfectly clear in his tone.

"Occasionally. I like the articles in which they unmask the seedy underbelly of the Ministry of Magic. Xenophilius Lovegood really knows how to peg them."

Bedevere couldn't help but smile as he watched Dennis' eyes skim through the many pages of The Quibbler. He had never met someone who accepted him for his many quirks, let alone someone with somewhat similar quirks. Dennis Galahad was the first person he had ever met who didn't judge him based on his peculiar interests, and that made him feel comfortable. It reminded him of the feeling he got when his parents cheered him up after being picked on at school all day. It made him feel like he mattered.

It was the first time in six years that someone accepted Steve Bedevere for who he was, and the first time in six years that he felt like he belonged.


	6. Robin

“Wands at the ready!”

Robin’s wand nearly flew out of his hand when he flicked it upwards. He had been gripping it as tightly as he managed, but he couldn’t help how sweaty his palms had become all of a sudden. His dueling opponent cocked a brow at him, clearly unimpressed with his attitude, and he had every right to be. When they flicked their wands downwards and faced away from each other, he sincerely wished he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning.

Why had de joined the Dueling Club, again? His main goal since he started his classes at Hogwarts were to lay low; no raising awareness to himself, no getting into any sort of trouble, just remain invisible for seven years. So why exactly was Robin Ferguson, a self-proclaimed musical theatre buff, there and not back at the Hufflepuff common room playing with his pet Pygmie Puff?

It was his no one’s fault but his own. When he saw the flyer for the Dueling Club, he considered it an opportunity to finally overcome his fear of confrontation, to finally stop hiding behind his inherent cowardice and try new things outside his comfort zone. He immediately regretted his decision once he saw he would have an audience, and even more when he was paired against a hulking Slytherin student who looked gigantic in comparison to himself.

Now he wanted nothing more than to punch himself in the face. How could he ever have thought it was a good idea to leave his comfort zone? It’s called the comfort zone for a reason!

When reached the end of the room and turned around, his opponent was already settled into his dueling pose. Robin tried his best to imitate him, although he could barely keep himself balanced due to how much his body was trembling.

“On the count of three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent.”

Robin could see the unbridled determination in his opponent’s eyes, even if he was all the way across the room, which only served to increase his already heavy anxiety. He wondered if it was too late to back down.

“One…”

Oh, it was definitely too late now.

“Two…”

He gripped his wand with all the strength he could muster and swallowed the lump forming in his throat, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry.

“Three!”

He saw his opponent open his mouth to cast a spell, but before the brawny Slytherin student could utter so much as a sound…

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

A bright flash blasted from the tip of Robin’s wand, a streak of white light very similar to a lightning bolt coursing through the air and striking his opponent square on the chest, sending him flying straight across the room until he landed on his back with a loud thud. The rest of the students watching were gasping and whispering amongst themselves, but Robin never noticed. All he could feel was all color drain from his face as his mind went blank and his body became numb.

He wasn’t sure what had come over him; he had panicked, that he was sure of, but somehow he could barely remember saying the charm aloud. It was like his body had acted on his own accord as a spontaneous response to an imminent threat, if that even made sense. All he knew was that he had somehow managed to knock over a Slytherin boy roughly twice his size.

Oh no… _he had knocked over a Slytherin boy roughly twice his size!_

His anxiety levels peaked when he thought of the consequences of what he had just done. He had many times been told about Slytherin House’s bad reputation and regaled with tales of what they did to students of other houses, but he never thought much of it. In fact, some of those stories seemed so far-fetched, he wasn’t really sure if they were true. Now he was about to find out.

Robin wanted to run away, but couldn’t bring himself to do that in front of that huge crowd; he would never live down the humiliation. He could feel sweat accumulating on his forehead, along with his bladder suddenly becoming full to the point of bursting. He wasn’t built for confrontation; he was a thespian, for Dumbledore’s sake!

He braced himself for whatever might come from his opponent: a savage beating, getting thrown out the window, being hit with the Cruciatus Curse…

Or even with… _Avada Kedavra_.

His knees nearly buckled under his weight when that last thought crossed his mind. He knew students weren’t allowed to use any of the Unforgivable Curses, but there wasn’t exactly anything anyone could to bring him back after being killed.

He shut his eyes and tried desperately to steady his ragged breathing, expecting at any moment to hear the sound of heavy footsteps trudging in his direction. Instead he heard… laughter?

His eyes snapped open when the sound of distant chuckles reached his hears. From what he could tell, his opponent hadn’t gotten up, yet was laughing heartily as he lay on his back. Robin immediately felt pressure lifting off his shoulders and made his way towards him in case he needed any assistance, all the while remaining alert.

“Wow, that was really something!” the brunet Slytherin said between chuckles as he sat up.

“Are you alright?” Robin asked cautiously, keeping himself at a safe distance.

“I’m better than alright!” he declared as he pushed himself up to his feet. “It’s about time I found a worthy opponent!”

He walked up to Robin and gave him a hard slap on the back, which made the ginger yelp. His muscles weren’t just for show; he really was as strong as he looked.

“You should really work on your anxiety, though. I could feel you sweating a mile away.”

“Yeah, that’s just the way I am.” Robin groaned as he rubbed his now sore spine.

“Nothing a little training won’t fix. I’m Lance, by the way.” He remarked, extending a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Rob–EEEHN!” he squealed when he grabbed Lance’s hand and the brunet squeezed his fingers with all his strength.

“You should also consider working out every once in a while.” Lance laughed, watching his opponent squirm under his grasp.


	7. Herbert

Disappointment (noun): someone or something that is not as good as you thought they would be.

If there was a better way to define Herbert Swampcastle, he didn’t know which it was. In fact, he firmly believed that if someone were to look up ‘disappointment’ in the dictionary, they would find a picture of him right under the definition. And it would be a rather unflattering picture, too.

A product of the love between a muggle born Beauxbatons student and a hefty Slytherin who cared greatly about traditional values, Herbert was considered a disappointment from the day he was born. His birth proved to be too much for his mother to handle, and she passed away moments after he came into the world. He was certain that was the point when his father began to see him as a nuisance, rather than his offspring.

They barely got along to begin with. As much as his father tried, he didn’t show any inclination towards his interests. Quidditch? Too violent. Dark arts? Too gruesome. Hunting? Not in a million years. The only thing close to a violent sport he seemed to excel at was archery, a skill which he later learned to have taken after his mother.

In fact, Herbert seemed to be a little too much like his mother. He had inherited her every feature: her golden curls, her alabaster-like skin, her large sapphire eyes, her delicate slender physique… he was almost like her clone, both in physical terms and in his way of being. Needless to say, that didn’t help his case with his father. He could tell it hurt him to look at his son and be reminded of his late wife every day.

Herbert would often wonder about his mother, but never dared to ask his father about her. The little he knew about her he had learned from their house elf, Cadby. The elf had been his closest friend and confident growing up, and would often tell him stories about his mother. According to Cadby, Herbert’s mother had been the kindest soul to have ever set foot on the planet. She would always have a permanent smile on her face and was always ready to lend a hand to those in need, no matter the risk. She was a smart, sophisticated and unbelievably beautiful young woman who always saw beauty in everything. She had met Herbert’s father when Beauxbatons hosted the Triwizard Tournament, his father having been the one chosen to represent Hogwarts, and they became close almost instantly. Everyone was certain they wouldn’t last, considering how different they were, but they managed to show everyone how opposites attract.

Ever since he could remember, Herbert’s father had been dead set on having him be accepted into Hogwarts. More importantly, he was convinced Herbert would be placed in Slytherin House. He had himself been a Slytherin when he attended Hogwarts, as well as his father, and his father before him, and _his_ father before him. It was a Swampcastle family tradition to be a Slytherin, and Herbert’s father was certain it would carry on for many years to come.

Herbert had gotten used to growing up surrounded by shades of green and silver, but that didn’t mean he actually liked it. It was unnerving how his father insisted that everything in his life had to somehow be Slytherin-related. He had forced him to wear nothing but green for a whole school year, which only got the other kids to start calling him ‘The Spirit of St Patrick’s Day’. His bedroom walls were green, his bedsheets were green… _even the curtains were green_.

He was over the moon when the acceptance letter finally came. Not only would his father stop pestering about him becoming a Slytherin, he would finally be able to get away from the constant presence of that nauseating color palette. He was aware that he would be seeing a lot of green and silver in his life if he really did get sorted into Slytherin House, but at least he would be allowed _some_ diversity.

For the first time since he could remember, Herbert’s father was genuinely happy for him. He couldn’t remember if he had ever seen his father smile, but now it seemed like he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t only happy, he was proud. His son was going to attend the most prestigious wizarding school in the country as a member of Slytherin House.

Or so he thought.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Collective cheering erupted from the other first year students and echoed all throughout the Great Hall, but Herbert couldn’t hear them. All he heard was that one word resonating in his mind as his heart sunk to his feet.

This couldn’t be happening… His father had prepared him to be a Slytherin all his life, and he had been certain he would be sorted into that very house. How could the Sorting Hat possibly have made him a Gryffindor?

He didn’t move a muscle for what felt like an eternity, not even when the Sorting Hat was removed from atop his head. He felt petrified and numb, safe for the strong throbbing of his eardrums. He was eventually pushed off the bench and slowly made his way to the Gryffindor table, where he was congratulated by his fellow house members. He paid no mind to them; the only thing on his mind was how his father would react when he discovered his only son had broken their century-long family tradition. The mere thought of his father’s angered expression was enough to bring tears to the blond’s eyes.

He never should’ve gotten his hopes up. Once a disappointment, always a disappointment.


	8. Lance

Hit first, ask questions later; that was Lance DuLac's philosophy.

Born in a Slytherin household, he was raised to believe that violence was always the answer. If he ever had a problem, he could just solve with his fists. This made him the most feared boy at school for many years. Everyone knew to stay out of Lance's way, especially if he happened to be in a foul mood.

There were reasons why he acted so violently, and they weren't only due to a very short temper and anger issues, although that helped a great deal. From a very young age he witnessed his father's aggressive behavior towards his mother, the reasons behind it he couldn't fully understand. It was only years later that he grasped the implications of his father's actions, and deeply resented him for it. From that moment onward he understood that violence was not always the answer, but part of him still felt the need to lash out at the smallest impulse.

It was a strange thing, really; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He felt incomplete. Something deep inside of him told him that something was amiss, and that would eventually trigger his aggressive behavior. He would much rather show his emotions through his fists than through tears.

His violent outbursts ultimately simmered down when he arrived at Hogwarts. He felt very at ease at that school, experiencing a level of comfort he had never known back home. He made some pretty good friends and did fairly well in his classes, excelling in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His mind finally felt at peace, although he couldn't shake the feeling that something was still missing.

* * *

"Come on, Robin! It'll be fine!" Arthur insisted, giving his friend a playful nudge.

"I already told you, I'm not doing it!" the ginger retorted.

"I honestly don't know what you're afraid of." Galahad rolled his eyes. "It's just an old house."

"It's haunted!" Robin exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. "It's not called 'the Shrieking Shack' for nothing."

"That's why it's fun!" Arthur beamed. "You'll see it's no big deal. You'll be out of there before you can count to five."

"Three." Patsy corrected him.

"Yes, three!"

"If you're so sure of that, why don't you do it?" Robin inquired, poking him in the chest.

"I have! Just last week." Arthur replied proudly, while Patsy shook his head negatively behind him.

"Sure." Robin deadpanned.

"I heard there's a three-head man living in there." Galahad declared. "The shrieking heard coming from the house is the sound of the heads arguing with each other."

"I heard there's a dead parrot in there." Patsy countered.

"You sure it's not just resting?" asked Robin.

"Nope. Stone-cold deceased."

"I heard the Shrieking Shack is inhabited by a vicious man-eating rabbit." Bedevere chimed in.

"Who told you that rubbish?" Galahad grumbled.

"That seventh-year student, Tim."

"You mean that weirdo who talks to snakes? What're you doing talking to him?"

"I just overheard him say it, that's all."

"Gentleman, we're digressing." Arthur interrupted them. "It's clear that Robin refuses to go, so which of you is brave enough to do it?"

"I have much better things to do, thank you." Galahad replied, crossing his arms.

"I have to practice for my Transfiguration final." Said Bedevere.

"Not in a million years." Patsy grumbled.

"Well then…" Arthur exhaled. "It appears we are at a stalemate."

"Technically, a stalemate refers to a situation in which there are no remaining possible moves." Bedevere intervened, his index finger pointed up. "I believe this is situation qualifies as an impasse."

"Steve, you know I love hearing you discuss semantics, but this is not the time nor the place for that." Galahad retorted.

Lance sighed through his nose, drowning out the sound of his friend's heated discussion. They had just gotten back from Christmas break and a chill was in the air, yet the group had decided to spend some time outside in the snow-covered courtyard. What had started off as an innocent conversation soon turned into a very childish game of dare, which annoyed him to no end.

He leaned against one of the stone pillars, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck as he felt the air around him grow colder. At this point he just hoped his friends would forget he was even there.

"I've had just about enough of you!"

"Father, please, you're hurting me!"

Lance's head immediately snapped upwards, a usual involuntary response to any sign of distress. He turned around towards the corridor behind him, where he saw a member of Gryffindor House with curly blond hair being held by the wrist by a an overweight and rather shaggy-looking older man, who he assumed was his father.

"You gave the elf a scarf!" the man barked right at the young boy's face. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Cadby was cold!" the blond whimpered, wincing under his father's strong grasp. "He wore nothing but rags!"

"You set him free, you tit! Where the hell am I going to find another house elf at this time of year?"

"Father, please…" the boy begged, clawing at the hand around his wrist.

"This is the last straw, Alice!" the man threatened as he raised a hand above his head.

At that exact moment, Lance felt something inside him snap.

"HEY!"

The boy's father stopped, his hand frozen in midair. They both looked at Lance, who had stepped into the corridor and looked beyond enraged.

"Don't you dare lay a hand on him!" he growled, blood boiling inside his veins.

The blond gaped at him whilst the older man simply cocked a brow at him, looking rather unimpressed. He huffed after a moment and shoved the boy away, who landed against the cold stone floor on his rear.

Lance watched the boy's father make his way towards the exit, the man's heavy steps shaking the stone floor. As soon he was out of his sight, he hurried towards the fragile-looking young man and held out a hand to help him up.

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly, gazing into those big blue irises staring up at him.

"Yes… thank you." The blond replied weakly as he moved his arm upwards.

As soon as he felt the skin of the boy's slender fingers come in contact with his own, Lance felt a strange new sensation wash through his body. It felt like a surge of electricity igniting every single one of his nerve endings; a pleasant tingle that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before.

He felt himself drown in those kind sapphire orbs, so much that he had to shake his head in order to return to reality.

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you, uh… Alice, was it?"

"It's Herbert, actually." The blond replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. "My father tends to call me that by accident. And don't worry, I'm fine."

He was still holding onto Herbert's hand, but his body refused to let go. His whole self was telling him to remain there, in the presence of that sweet-looking boy who seemed to regard him like a savior.

Lance felt his mouth curl up into a smile, realizing that _that_ was what was missing.


	9. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for [Sir_LanceThot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_LanceThot/pseuds/Sir_LanceThot) 💖

The moment Bedevere and Galahad hit it off, they became almost inseparable. They barely had anything in common, other than their House and their passion for The Quibbler, which caused them to bicker very often, but somehow they made it work. Dennis was able to make Bedevere come out of his shell and forget all about his insecurities, and that made him happy. Bedevere in turn helped Galahad with his schoolwork and would listen patiently as he often rambled about political injustice and his overbearing mother who bombarded him with letters every week.

They couldn’t quite pinpoint when it happened, but at some point their friendship got a whole lot closer, evolving into something more… intimate. Bedevere was used to having Dennis flirt with basically everybody, but eventually he just stopped and focused all his energy and ridiculous pick-up lines on him. He couldn’t say he had never felt somewhat attracted to his desk mate. He wasn’t blind; Dennis was extremely good looking. He just never imagined he would feel the same kind of attraction towards him, his appearance-wise polar opposite.

Another thing that they weren’t sure how it started was that they began writing notes to each other. At first they were fairly short and innocent, saying things like “You look nice today” and “I miss you”, but as time passed, and Galahad grew impatient, they became more and more risqué. Truth be told, the saucier ones were always from Dennis. Bedevere knew better, and was much too afraid that they might get caught by one of their professors, which almost happened in one or two occasions.

There was one time when they were nearly exposed to the whole school, and it had been in the worst way possible.

Bedevere was meticulously cutting the meat around the chicken in his plate. He was well aware that it would be much easier to just grab it and eat around it, but he considered it a highly unsanitary method. He avoided getting his hands dirty at all costs.

He saw a small flash of light from the corner of his eye and when he looked to his right he found a small piece of parchment on the table, neatly folded and still smoking slightly. He glanced up at the spot across from him and saw Galahad smirking deviously at him, his head rested on his left hand as he casually twirled his wand in his right hand. He gave him a wink and an eyebrow wiggle, which immediately sent a pleasant tingle up Bedevere’s spine.

He felt his mouth suddenly become dry as he reached for the parchment with shaky fingers, his heart pounding against his chest and his cheeks growing unbearably warm. He handled the note as if it were the most fragile thing on the planet, almost afraid to open it. Dennis had a tendency to surprise him, often not in the most appropriate ways.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and began unfolding the parchment, almost trembling in anticipation. He could already make out the curves of Dennis’ cursive handwriting.

“Yoink!”

With a movement so fast that he nearly had time to process it, the note was snatched from his hands. When he looked up and saw the culprit, he immediately felt his world crumble around him. It was that annoying French kid from Slytherin House who got a kick out of making fun of just about anyone. He had an evil grin on his face as he eyed the still folded parchment in his hand.

“What have we here?” he asked teasingly in his strong accent. “A love letter for the tiny uncouth simpleton?”

“Give that back!” Bedevere exclaimed as he launched himself at the other boy, only to be stopped by the francophone pointing his wand directly between his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it, you belligerent bug-eyed personification of vulgarity.” He threatened, seemingly unfazed. “Or you’ll be vomiting slugs for the next month.”

Bedevere took a step back, noticing how the Great Hall had suddenly fallen silent. He watched in panic as his taunter snickered and unfolded the note.

“I can’t wait until we’re all alone so I can once again press myself against your gorgeous body.” He read aloud, his voice dripping with malevolence.

Bedevere blushed again, but this time for a completely different reason. He could hear some of his fellow students laughing at him, and had to sit back down when he felt his legs becoming numb.

“I want to run my hands through your chest hair as you call out my name.” he continued, wheezing in laughter.

Bedevere could feel his breathing become ragged and his entire body lose feeling, certain he would pass out any minute.

“Yours truly, De—“

He wasn’t allowed to finish when Galahad’s fist suddenly connected with his face with such force that it knocked him out cold. The other students gasped as Dennis shook his hand with a grimace, glaring angrily at the unconscious French kid on the floor. He retrieved the note from his hand and walked over to Bedevere, who gawked at him in disbelief.

“I believe this is yours.” Said Dennis, extending the folded piece of parchment in Bedevere’s direction.

Feeling his cheeks flush once more, Bedevere took the note from Galahad’s slender fingers and smiled up at him in appreciation. Dennis smiled back before walking towards the exit, running a finger through his shoulders as he walked behind him. Bedevere felt shivers run through his body and swore to get back at Dennis for the whole ordeal.

_Later_.


	10. Midnight Rendezvous

From the moment he rescued Herbert from his tyrannical father, Lance developed an almost unnatural need to protect the young blond. He seemed drawn to the fragile-looking Gryffindor boy like he had never been towards anyone else, and that only made him want to keep him safe even more. Whenever Herbert shot him that warm smile that made the world feel like a better place, he just wanted to wrap him in a warm blanket and smooch the life out of him.

He could tell Herbert also felt the need to be close to him. He would sit next to him at lunch or whenever he would find him alone and easily strike a conversation. There were never any awkward silences between them, and when there was silence, it was a comfortable silence; the kind in which they just gazed at each other and Lance would drown in the calm waters of Herbert’s sapphire-blue eyes.

Unfortunately this was short-lived, as they became prone to mockery from some of their colleagues, especially those mean French kids from Slytherin House that Lance knew all too well. Instead of Lance beating them senseless, and because they didn’t want to stop getting together, they arranged to meet in secret every day at the Astronomy Tower after every other student had retired for the evening. They knew they weren’t allowed to wander around the castle at night, and if they were caught the consequences would be dire, but it was a risk worth taking.

That night was no different. After making his way through the empty halls as silently as humanly possible, and always keeping a lookout for the caretaker, Lance nearly ran up the stairs towards the top of the Astronomy Tower, where he knew Herbert was waiting for him. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Lance had to take a moment to collect himself, not only because he was out of breath, but to take in the breathtaking image before him.

Herbert was sitting on the floor with his back against the stone wall, absentmindedly staring at the night sky over the horizon. The moonlight was reflected on his golden curls, which would flutter ever so slightly with the night breeze. His legs were crossed in a delicate and elegant manner, his feet dangling over the ledge. His blue irises seemed to sparkle under the starlight. He looked absolutely angelical.

Lance felt the corners of his mouth lift up and curl into a smile as he observed the beautiful creature illuminated by the moonlight, his heart instantly picking up the pace and thumping pleasantly against his chest. He could feel his cheeks warm up as he observed the blond contemplating whatever it was that went through his head; his flawless, sun-kissed head.

He had to shake his head to free himself from the trance he had fallen into in order to be able to move again. He made his way across the room towards Herbert, who hadn’t noticed him until that very moment. When he did, the blond gave Lance that familiar smile that made him feel like all was well with the world.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Said Lance as he sat down in front of Herbert. “Did you have any trouble getting here?”

“Not really. It’s easy for me to go unnoticed.” Herbert shrugged humbly, looking down at his lap.

“I beg to differ.”

Herbert glanced up at Lance, the porcelain-like skin of his cheeks suddenly turning a light shade of pink. Lance felt himself blush again and had to clear his throat in order to change the subject.

“Uh, a-anyone been giving you a hard time, lately?” he stammered, suddenly feeling the need to avoid eye contact. “Have Jacques and his goons left you alone?”

“Not really.” Herbert sighed. “This morning he tripped me and said I had no business being so close to you. According to him, a Gryffindor fraternizing with a Slytherin is a disgrace.”

“The only disgrace is going to be his face, after I’m through with him.” Lance growled, feeling anger bubble up inside him.

“It’s sweet that you want to defend me, but there’s no need to resort to violence.” Herbert smiled feebly at him. “I’m sure they’ll tire of it eventually.”

“I hope so.” Lance muttered under his breath.

“You don’t have to worry so much about me.” He reached for Lance’s hand, grasping it gently. “I can take care of myself. Always have, always will.”

Lance found himself smirking at the blond’s gesture, trying his best to ignore the increasing warmth on his face, at the same time hoping it wasn’t showing too much. His gaze fell upon Herbert’s lap, where there lay a crimson envelope.

“What’s that?” Lance inquired, pointing at the item in question.

“It’s a Howler from my dad.” Herbert sighed, gripping the letter tightly with his slender fingers. “It arrived this morning. I can’t bring myself to open it. I know it’s supposed to go off soon, but I can’t bear to hear it…”

Lance could understand why Herbert was so reluctant about opening the Howler. He had only met the blond’s father once, but it was more than enough to cause a very negative impression on him. The man was an uneducated brute who treated his own son like garbage. Just thinking about him made Lance want to punch a wall. He could only imagine the type of barbarities the man had included in that letter.

“Can I see that?” Lance extended his free hand towards Herbert, his open palm facing upwards.

“Are you going to open it?”

“Of course not.”

Herbert hesitated, but complied to Lance’s request, placing the red letter on the brunet’s palm. Lance gripped the letter firmly as he pulled out his wand, pointing it at the letter. He took one last look at Herbert’s awe-stricken gaze before focusing is attention on the Howler.

“Incendio.”

Herbert yelped and jumped slightly when the letter suddenly burst into flames and disintegrated completely. Lance put his wand away and wiped the remaining ashes from his hand.

“There. He can’t terrorize you anymore.” Lance declared with a victorious grin. “Not with _that_, anyway.”

“You know he’ll just write another one, right?” Herbert retorted, unable to keep himself from smirking at the brunet’s quasi-heroic act.

“Then I’ll burn that one, too! I’ll burn anything he sends your way! You don’t deserve to hear all the hurtful things he tells you! I love you too much to –”

Lance quickly stopped talking when he realized what he had just said. He felt his cheeks burn as he saw Herbert’s eyes widen with his mouth agape and his own cheeks glowing pink.

“Di-did I just say that out loud?” Lance stuttered, trying his best to divert his gaze from the blond’s bewildered expression. “I-I’m sorry, I just –”

He was silenced when he felt Herbert’s lips suddenly press against his, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates and his cheeks growing unbearably warm.

Lance was shocked by the blond’s unexpected action. Herbert was always so timid about expressing himself, no doubt a result of the toxic environment he had grown up in. This was the last thing Lance had ever expected him to do, but he would be lying if he said he wanted him to stop.

Herbert pulled away after a few seconds; too soon, in Lance’s opinion. His cheeks were beet-red and his rosy lips curled in a bashful smile as he observed the now flustered brunet before him.

Lance didn’t think twice; acting on sheer impulse, he lunged forward and captured Herbert’s lips with his own, trying his best to replicate the kiss the blond had given him not moments ago, albeit deeper and more passionate. Herbert released a surprised squeak but melted under the brunet’s ministrations, gripping his robe to pull him closer. Lance did the same by entangling his finger’s in Herbert’s golden locks, his heart swelling as he kissed the beautiful blond in his arms.

The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, the beginning of a new day manifesting itself to all students and faculty of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but to Herbert and Lance, the rest of the world did not exist. Only they did.


	11. Private Lesson

“Go on, try again.”

Arthur took a deep breath and tried his best to focus on casting the spell. He furrowed his brow and stretched his arm out, pointing his wand at the empty space before him.

“Expecto Patronum!” he shouted, keeping his gazed fixed on the wall at the other of the room.

Despite his fiery determination, all that came out of the tip of his wand was a small streak of blue light that disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

Arthur flopped down onto the couch behind him, feeling utterly defeated. He and Gwen had been in the Room of Requirement for what felt like an eternity practicing that spell, yet he didn’t seem to be improving. Needless to say, he was beginning to grow desperate and feel like an utter failure.

“Come on, keep trying!” Gwen insisted as she took a seat next to him. “You can’t give up now!”

“I’m exhausted!” Arthur groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Can we _please_ just call it a day?”

“But you’re so close! I can feel it!”

Gwen reached down and pulled a rather large and old leather-bound book onto her lap. She began to furiously leaf through it in search of a passage that would help them with that particular spell.

“Patronuses… Patronuses…” she murmured as her eyes perused the yellow pages. “Here we are! Patronus Charm. ‘The Patronus represents that which is hidden, unknown but necessary within the personality. When a human is confronted with inhuman evil, such as a Dementor, they must draw upon resources he or she may never have needed, and the Patronus is the awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed, but which must now be brought to light.’”

Arthur closed his eyes and massaged his temples, feeling a rather strong migraine coming on.

“‘To successfully cast the spell, one begins by…’” she suddenly trailed off, engulfing them in a deafening silence.

Arthur opened his eyes and looked up at her, only to find her glaring at him.

“Arthur…” she smirked, obviously amused. “Have you been thinking happy thoughts?”

“Excuse me?” he cocked a brow at her.

“That was the answer all along! Look!” She moved the book closer so he could read the page along with her. “‘To successfully cast the spell, one begins by mustering the happiest memory they can think of. The happier the memory, the better the charm will work.’”

She abruptly closed the book in her excited state, the resulting sound startling Arthur.

“You just have to think about a nice memory from your childhood.” She beamed.

“But my childhood is filled with nothing but bad memories.” Arthur sulked.

“Don’t say that! I’m sure there’s at least one moment in your life that’s precious to you.”

Arthur glanced at Gwen from the corner of his eye. She was smiling fondly at him and her dark eyes were gleaming with hope. Even after hours of restless practice she still managed to look like the loveliest creature at the face of the planet.

He couldn’t help the tug he felt at his lips as they slowly curled into the smallest of smirks. She always had that effect on him. From the moment he first laid his eyes on her, it suddenly had felt like the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.

“I think I do remember something.” He sighed, ignoring the sudden burning sensation on his cheeks.

“Great!” Gwen clapped excitedly as she hopped off the couch. “This is the one, I just know it!”

Arthur stood up and took his position, as he had done countless times that afternoon. After taking one last look at Gwen, who was eagerly watching him, he did his best block out any distractions and clear his mind, focusing solely on the one good memory he had chosen. He once again took a deep breath, furrowed his brow and stretched his arm out, pointing his wand at the empty space before him.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

That time, unlike all his previous tries, a large beam of blue light shot out of wand and took form. Both he and Gwen watched in awe as the mass of light turned into a large feline before their very eyes.

“It’s a lion!” Gwen gasped.

Their gazes were fixed on the Patronus as it roared and ran around the room before vanishing without a trace. It took the two teenagers a moment to snap back into reality after what they had witnessed. When they did manage to find their bearings, they looked at each other and laughed, latching onto one another in a tight embrace.

“That was amazing!” Gwen squealed between giggles. “I knew you could do it!”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help.” Said Arthur. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I am curious, though. What exactly did you think about to cast such a powerful Patronus?”

“Actually…” he looked away, feeling himself blush again. “I thought about the day we met.”

When met Gwen’s gaze again, her eyes were wide and her expression was blank. He could tell she wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Really?” she asked, more confused than surprised. “But why? That’s a lousy memory. You had to rescue me from drowning in the lake.”

“Lousy? Are you serious?” he practically laughed at her. “The moment we met is the best I can recall. It was the day you came into my life. From then on out, it felt like my existence finally had some meaning – _has_ some meaning. Just one look at you is enough to brighten my whole day.”

He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. Gwen had not moved from her spot, and from what he could tell, she was on the verge of tears. He suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I care a lot about you, Gwen.” He concluded, fidgeting with his wand to avoid eye contact.

When he looked back up, Gwen had a wide smile spread across her face; the widest he had ever seen on her.

“Oh, Arthur…” she exhaled, stepping forward to cup his cheeks. “I care a lot about you, too.”

“You do?” Arthur asked, his eyes widening and his heart skipping a beat.

“Of course, silly! I thought you would’ve noticed by now! Didn’t it seem strange to you that I was always around?”

“I thought you were just my friend. And that you enjoyed spending time with me.”

“Well, I _do_ enjoy spending time with you. Although I would enjoy it even more if I weren’t just your friend, but something much more meaningful.”

“You mean like my… best friend?”

Gwen rolled her eyes and leaned in, pressing her lips against his.

Arthur’s eyes nearly shot out of his skull and his heart almost stopped beating. He could barely believe that was happening. It felt like a dream, but he knew it was real. Gwen Ramírez – the girl he had saved from certain death on his first day at Hogwarts; the girl whose mere presence always brought a smile to his face, even on the gloomiest of days; the girl he had grown to love over the past few years – was most definitely kissing him.

He melted into the kiss and wrapped his arms around her waist, his wand still firmly grasped in his right hand. He had to stretch upwards in order to kiss her back, given that Gwen had a good five inches on him. She instinctively pulled him closer, her hands moving to rest on the back of his head.

Arthur had never thought he could experience such bliss. This was a whole new kind of magic; one that enveloped every inch of his mind and body alike, washing over him like a wave of pure ecstasy and sending him over the edge; one that made him feel like he was flying over the clouds without the aid of a broomstick; one that he wished would never wear off.

“What’s all this, then?!”

Arthur pulled away and released a rather unflattering screech as he reflexive shot a defensive spell in the direction where the voice had come from. Both he and Gwen stood petrified in shock when they turned and saw the caretaker – the one who always wore a black robe and whose face was always hidden underneath the hood – standing in the doorway, his left arm having been blown clean off by Arthur’s spell.

“What are you kids doing out of bed at this hour?” he asked angrily.

“Nothing!” they exclaimed in unison as they inched away from each other, their faces as red as they could get.

“Right, that’s what they all say. Get back to your rooms before I sick the headmaster on you!”

Arthur and Gwen rushed towards the door, running past the gatekeeper and out into the hallway as fast as they could. As Arthur ran in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, Gwen stopped and turned back to face the cloaked man.

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She made a face and pointed towards the gaping hole where his left arm used to be, which was gushing blood onto the stone floor.

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “It’s just a flesh wound.”


End file.
